Gauntlet

Early morning a man pauses at a city corner, panting he pauses, then bolts across barren streets of tall buildings that echo voices crying out, "you can't hide, you can't run forever, make this easy please for all our sake, come to us, maybe we can end this."
The man pauses again at another corner, looking round charges across the street and into a building.
A pedestrian looks back just as he disappears.
The pedestrian smells the air, inhaling deeply.   Pedestrian: he’s here!! I can smell him!  
Interior: apartment stairwell.  
The bloodied beaten man struggles up the stairs to the top floor of a run down tenement apartment building. There he comes upon a young woman standing at an open apartment door. They stare at each other a long while. He looks at her, then the door, then stands, leaning against the wall & stumbles into her apartment.  
Interior: Sparsely furnished apartment. Dark. Dirty  
The apartment is sparsely furnished: a couch backed to a large window looking out onto the street, a tall lamp & an end table.   The beaten man stumbles across the room & into the corner beside the large window. He listens. She listens.
Woman: You can't stay for long. You have to go before my husband comes home. If he sees you he'll beat you like the others.  
Beaten Man: I understand, I just need a minute.
Woman: Would you like some water.
Beaten Man: Yes.  
She leaves the room. The man closes his eyes, listening to the calls for him, from outside.   The woman returns with a glass of water that he takes & drinks.  
Woman: why do they beat you?
Beaten Man: Why don't you?
Woman: I don't know.
Beaten Man: Neither do I. Why would your husband want to beat me?
Woman: I don't know. But he will, I know that.
She steps up to him and kicks him in the side.  
Woman: There. I've done my part. How did it feel?
Beaten Man: Like a love tap.
Woman: I'm sorry.
Beaten Man: I’ve made my way through so many cities, beaten by strangers, hiding in condemned buildings, finding benevolent people to hide me, but who still hate me for what I’ve done. Why is this? I don't know. This has gone on for so long I can't remember why I’m tortured so. I imagine that I once knew why, but now most of my memories are gone. I’m not even sure that the memories I do have are mine and not just fabrications to placate my burden.  
She walks to the window & looks out.  
Woman: Where do you go from here?
Beaten Man: Nowhere in particular, just moving on, running, hiding, I never know where. It all depends on who's doing the beating and then I run from there in whatever direction will take me away from it.
Woman: How is it that you go on like this? Did you kill someone? Is that why they beat you? Because you've done something so wrong?
Beaten Man: I don't know for sure but I seem to remember having killed once a long time ago. I don't remember who or when or why. I remember losing all my strength,  realizing the magnitude of what I'd done. But now, I just can't imagine killing anyone.  
A sound at the door.
She turns & there stands a man at the door. Without saying a word, the man, wearing a worn pair of jeans, a dyed wife-beater shirt & a pair black work boots, struts over to the beaten man, stands over him for a moment, looking him over & then begins to kick him. The beaten man drops the glass of water on its side, recoils into the corner and cowers while trying to absorb the pain. The man continues to pound away at the Beaten Man.
The Woman turns away, holding back tears, a scream. The Beater tires quickly, each kick needing further exertion. The Beaten Man moves quickly between tired kicks, sliding over & away. The Beater turns to give chase & kick the Beaten Man but steps on the glass of water, rolls on it & falls hard on his back. The Beaten Man runs for the door & out of the apartment. The Beater stands, grimacing from the pain, turns to The Woman with a look of anger then runs out of the apartment screaming about the man. He chases The Beaten Man all the way down to the first floor & out of the building all the while screaming.
As The Beaten Man charges into the streets, pedestrians suddenly turn, pursue & capture the beaten man in a consuming swarm.  
The Woman watches from the apartment window.
The Man returns to the apartment. The Woman stands at the window, not looking out, not turning to see The Man.
The Man walks off screen, then returns with a handful of paper towel, drops to his knees, takes the glass and begins to wipe the floor.  
The Woman: what’s going to happen to him?
The Man: nothing’s going to change. He runs on, beaten wherever he goes. It’s the first time I’ve met him. I hope I don’t ever meet him again. I hope I don’t ever become him.                
The Beaten Man is being pummeled in the street by a crowd, each person; man, woman and child, taking their turn. Until one man grabs and holds Benito and berates him.
"You are the sorrow in our world. The agony. The pain and suffering you bring with your existence. Why? Why do we beat and pummel you like some soccer ball, and you don't go away? Why can’t you just die?"
"I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could. But everywhere I go; everywhere I've gone, there has been someone there to beat me. There have been moments where I have found that place, where I am alone, but someone always comes along, as if summoned to beat me."
"Then kill yourself."
"I can't. I don't have the strength of body or spirit to beat another person, kill another, let alone kill myself."
"Then I will do it for you!"
The man pulls a gun out from his shirt and shoots Benito point blank in the heart.
The crowd is aghast.
"What have you done? He's going to die!"
He looks at them all, unaware of what he has done.
"What? I've done what we all wanted. To be rid - of him."
Benito laughs, a menacing snicker at first that develops into an all out choking guffaw. Blood dribbles and spits from his mouth, the redness coloring his laugh. He motions for the man to bow down close to him.
"What?"
"What is your name?"
"Orlando."
"Orlando?"
"Yes."                
"I am Benito."                
"Benito."
"Where are you from, Orlando?"
"Far away from here. The country. Why?"
"I remember where I am from now. For so long I could not remember where I was from, except to remember that I could not. But I remember now. I am from the city, from Brooklyn, NY. I lived in a small studio apartment near the bridge, with a beautiful view. I remember that now.  I remember it all now. Orlando? Do you remember where exactly it is in the country you come from?"
"That's none of your business."
"You don't remember, do you?"
Orlando just stares.
"I understand. I understand it all now."
Benito laughs, tears flow from his eyes. But it subsides as he dies.
A man slips in through the crowd, reaches down to grab Benito under his arms, and drags him away, out of the crowd.
Orlando is alone, surrounded by the crowd.
They look at him.
Someone grabs him from behind, clamping his arms; someone else takes the gun from him.
They all converge and begin to pummel him as they used to do to Benito.
He gets away and begins to run, and run.
And the crowd chase.

Waves

Waves, we are...
Crashed against rocks
Rising high above the surface
Racing furiously to shore
Ripples of relative calm
Still water breathes tsunami
Darkest fathoms deep
Hidden in relative calm breathes the beast

My Heroes

they are tortured souls,

my heros

loners all, brooding, analytical and difficult,

who see the world with eyes of cynicism

different from others

they see no hope yet carry it with them

and give it to those in need

Focus

a dream... a lens blurred from complacency 

wiped clean and sharpened with ambition to become reality

all that we love and hate distract from the chase

blurring the lens of ambition

in the end all we have is ourselves,

one with the end and once again whole

until then our lives are ours to lay waste and forever dream

or push forward to leave behind the dream

Dinner Is Late

Dinner is late
everyone argues as the meal sits cold and uneaten
someone left the window open rain, snow and the cold air come through but no one notices as the kids sitting at their table grow hungry, tired and cold
makes one wonder where... who are the adults
those who argue over nothing now cause no one seems to remember what it was about or for that matter how it started, the kids are hungry, cold and tired
and dinner is late

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How We Could Have Both Inflation and Deflation -- Seeking Alpha

How We Could Have Both Inflation and Deflation -- Seeking Alpha

In a nutshell, financial asset prices and high end products could continue to rise moderately, while the prices of other consumer and durable goods could fall in a depressionary spiral.

Spirituality & Practice: Film Review: Being There, directed by Hal Ashby

Spirituality & Practice: Film Review: Being There, directed by Hal Ashby

Film Review

By Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

Being There
Directed by Hal Ashby
Warner Bros. 12/79 DVD/VHS Feature Film
PG

"The emergence of celebrity in America is not based on depth," writes Jerzy Kosinski. "It is based on visibility and accessibility, a smile, a figure. It is based on appearing as a person of importance. The question asked is not 'Is he a good man?' It's 'what circles does he move in?' " Being There is a very funny and thought-provoking movie that can be seen as a fairy tale, a political story, and a religious parable on the nature of identity in a media age. Director Hal Ashby's adaptation of Kosinski's 1971 novel is a tour de force of sensitivity and well-realized pacing.

Chance (Peter Sellers), an individual of mysterious origins, is the gardener in the Washington house of a wealthy and eccentric old man. His only pastime is watching television. When the owner dies, the lawyers for the estate force Chance to leave. He finds himself out on the street with no birth certificate, driver's license, checkbook, or medical records. And Chance can't read or write.

Dressed in one of his employer's custom-tailored suits, he looks like a successful businessman. At least that's what Eve (Shirley MacLaine), the wife of a rich and powerful industrialist, thinks when her limousine bruises his leg. She offers to have a doctor check him at her home. When he says, "I am Chance, the gardener," she hears, "I am Chauncey Gardiner." Her husband Benjamin Rand (Melvyn Douglas), an old and ailing patriarch, takes an immediate liking to the soft-spoken and self-confident visitor. Chance is asked to stay with them during his recuperation.

While the President (Jack Warden) is in a meeting with Rand, he asks Chauncey's opinion of the economy. "In a garden, growth has its season . . . as long as the roots are not severed, all will be well." The Chief Executive uses the line in a speech and the press is soon clamoring to know more about this new economic advisor. Invited to appear on TV, Chauncey is an instant success. Although Rand's doctor (Richard Dysart) has his doubts about the man, both the CIA and the FBI fail to come up with any information on him. Chauncey wows a Russian diplomat at a reception on Capitol Hill and is eventually seduced by Eve. In the end, Rand dies and passes on both his estate and his wife to Chauncey. There is even talk among influential businessmen that Mr. Gardiner is presidential material.

One of the hallmarks of a parable of this type is that it can serve as host to a treasure trove of interpretations. Here are a few to try on: play with the idea of Chance as the Jesus of the electronic age, living by the TV Bible, speaking in botanical parables, and hailed as a savior by the media-dominated society. Or how about seeing the old man as God, Chance as Adam, and TV as his mythology. The lawyers are the angels who send him out of the garden. Eve takes Chance home to tempt him with the fruits of popularity and power. Or see Chance as yourself experiencing all the ways in which others try to force you to play a part in their movies. Others have hailed the political prophecy of Being There— individuals have been elevated to high political office for simply coming across well on television. Or here's a final one to process: the film is simply a very savvy meditation on being present — being at the right place at the right time.

The crash

In a way similar to how the world bank, its governing countries and corporate clients operate, Americans were convinced by the american dream, that owning a home was a sure equity cushion, a guaranteed source of ever increasing income and growth for the common man. Well maybe if we had treated our homes like corporate property and protected ourselves from any fault, but we didn't. The equity was never real but we believed enough to borrow against it and live well, much as so many third world countries believed when offered the same projections by like minded bankers.

This is nothing more than loan sharking. Knowing and petitioning a potential customer to borrow money while the provider is aware the loan can never be repaid.

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Liberal? Really?

Most tend to put others on a pedestal when they should just mount a mirror upon it and see who really deserves to be on that pedestal. This need to revere others is so prevalent it disgusts me. So much potential is wasted on outward praise of others. Obama who? What we need is not a leader but one who sets an example, who shows a way not the way, who can express true liberalism through individuality. A president who does his job as administrator and not as King.

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Economics

Both Friedman and Keynes are wrong. They are both opposite extreme economic concepts that clashes not just because of their basic tenets but because they both seek consensus. Consensus comes through compromise and both ideas have become religion and don't work on compromise. Ideas on both sides are good. Its obviously difficult to satisfy large global and national groups by force. Use what works, keep it simple. Eliminate the greed. Current economics is no different than a game that involves betting. The old idea of barter could never work. Currency is need to drive an economy. Any game has rules and most are simple. The most important being cheating. The game must be played above board. All transactions must be transparent. No reason to hide anything unless you are cheating.
Likewise its bad business ethics and logic to extend credit to those who show they can't pay it back.

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